


What Stars Only See

by FactorialRabbits, Lidoshka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Animal Death, Gen, Minor Injuries, also featuring other characters in minor roles, non-graphic description of corpse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 08:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20373376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactorialRabbits/pseuds/FactorialRabbits, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidoshka/pseuds/Lidoshka
Summary: Beleriand was once the greatest work of the Eldar - their first settlement beyond their own system - before contact was lost and its location forgotten. Of late, it has been rediscovered, the crew of the starship Eletaumbë have been contracted to investigate. Unfortunately, they have not been in orbit long when the problems begin...Alternatively: in which ex-military pilot Maedhros and aspiring archaeologist Fingon manage to crash their shuttle, backpack through a forest, and explore some ruins.





	What Stars Only See

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2019.
> 
> Art is by Lidoshka, prose is by FactorialRabbits.
> 
> Notes:  
* They use their Quenya names when being official, and Sindarin when talking with each other. I thought to split it with mother and father names, but Fingon was being awkward.  
* There is a paragraph towards the end where the PoV character experiences a panic-induced flashback. If you would rather not, skip the paragraph beginning 'Fingon made a noise of acknowledgement'  
* See end-notes for Factorial's personal notes  
* Also as Factorial is the one posting - thank you to Lidoshka for being lovely to work with and a great time. Also thank you to the people who helped naming the planets only mentioned in passing.  
* I have made the pictures fit to screen. The originals at full size can be found [here](https://www.deviantart.com/greenapplefreak/art/Floating-810747781) and [here](https://www.deviantart.com/greenapplefreak/art/landing-810748383).

“Catch!”

Maedhros looked up from where he had been checking a service panel, only for a very slow-moving playing card to bop him on the nose. Before he had quite recovered, there was the click of a camera and a short flash, followed by giggling. He reached out with one hand, snatching the card - an ace of hearts - looking it over before letting it float away and turning back to the panel.

“You do know there’s nothing wrong with any of this, right?” Fingon allowed his camera to float away, kicking the nearby window to come closer.

Maedhros nodded in response, flicking the panel back to the starting screen. In theory, they used this corridor, conveniently connected their rooms, to practice working in low gravity. In practice… Well, there was their shared bookshelf, and over there a notice board where they left notes to each other, and over there a bag full of Fingon’s thesis notes hidden where his sister with a little too much free time would not find them. And the rest of the deck of cards, liberated from their box, drifted slowly around the corridor. If someone from maintenance ever needed to come down here to check something there would probably be trouble, but it had never happened as far as he could tell.

Another playing card bopped him on the nose, Fingon floating out of reach when he lunged to poke him back. Finally letting go of the safety handle, Maedhros gave chase.

Just before he caught him, the ship-wide tannoy system clicked into life.

“ _ Attention all crewmen. We shall soon be entering orbit over Hastaina-452b, colloquially referred to as Beleriand. Flight crew are to report to their stations within half an hour. Survey teams are to report to Second Officer Arafinwë in Meeting Room C on the hour. A reminder to prepare for entry shall be issued half an hour before entry _ .”

“I win!” their task delayed, Fingon grabbed his camera back from where it floated, before pulling himself back through the service hatch and to the main ship.

Fondly shaking his head, Maedhros made sure to put everything away before following suit.

* * *

Despite having taken a particularly circuitous route to ensure Fingon and he did not arrive together, somehow Maedhros was still faster than his companion. Most people were already there - Aredhel and Celegorm, Galdor and Duilin, Arminas and Gelmir to name but a few. Uncle Finarfin, in full uniform, sat at the head of the table with a slight smile on his face.

Thankfully, the projection screen appeared to be turned off; if Maedhros wondered about his patience for his uncle’s presentations, he dared not think about how his brother would cope.

Nodding to the group, he took his seat and logged into small computer system inbuilt into the table, ready for whatever notes he needed to take.

Fingon was the last to arrive, ten seconds before being late. His grin was apologetic as he took the last seat, not bothering with the inbuilt systems but taking out his own tablet instead. As he was fiddling with it, Maedhros spotted him wince and look up, glaring. From the expressions and positions of those in the room, all that could possibly have happened was Celegorm kicking Fingon in the shin.

Finarfin seemed to pick up on it as well, shaking his head, “this is a meeting. Please behave like it.”

The two of them murmured apologies, as did Aredhel. Maedhros wasn’t quite sure what she had been planning, and was almost glad he wouldn’t get a chance to see what it was.

“Now that we are all here,” uncle Finarfin got up from his seat. Maybe there was to be no presentation, but certainly he was ready to pace. “As you all should be aware by now, we are on contract to survey and record Hastaina-452b. Unlike our usual contracts, we are absolutely certain this planet has Eldarin remains, though we may also find those of more alien races. Hastaina-452b was the-”

“First colony of the Quendi, settled over a 400 yeni ago. Contact was lost before the invention of FTL communications, and the exact location lost,” Aredhel’s voice was incredibly bored as she interrupted. “Its rediscovery ten years ago was cause for great celebration, though it has been established the colony is abandoned. We know. The only person here who hasn’t studied history is Celegorm.”

“I’ve studied enough to know about that,” Maedhros could not quite tell if his brother’s offence was real, but reasoned it probably was not.

To be fair to him, Celegorm’s training as an alien behavioural specialist was at least a valuable thing to have on their ship dedicated to cultural and historical research. Maedhros… Well, it had taken aunt Findis leaving them a pilot short when she moved to another ship with her marriage for him to find a use for his training.

He was torn from dark thoughts by Amandir slamming the table, finally silencing the bickering of his brother and cousin.

“Thank you, Flight Lieutenant,” uncle Finarfin sighed. “Fine, the short version. We have been contracted to survey and make records of all sights of interest, assess the hazards, make a complete record of the site, and retrieve any artefacts. If we can, we are also to establish why the colony was abandoned. However… That is a job for years, to completely explore and record. Over the next few days we will be performing aerial scans, finding obvious hazards, also looking for where we need to-”

Celegorm opened mouth to interrupt this time. Uncle Finarfin pinched his nose, and Maedhros was fairly sure that if they weren’t both related to him and one of the most efficient scanning teams, that both Celegorm and Aredhel would have been kicked out of the meeting by now.

“Fine, fine, your mission briefings will be uploaded to your accounts. Maps should already be on the desk computers, if you would check your assignments before leaving the room and speak to me if there are any problems,” he shook his head, exasperation clear on his face as he sat back down.

Fingon slipped from his chair, coming to lean over Maedhros’ shoulder. His hatred of the desk consoles, with their displays of fixed colour, Maedhros did understand. It would help if the maps were ever uploaded with the briefing documents, but until that day he was happy enough to find them for his companion.

He opened up the map, flicking around the quarter designated for that day’s explorations to find their assignment.

An island, denoted forested, towards the south of the northern area. Maedhros could almost feel Fingon’s face fall.

“Uncle- Commander?” Fingon’s voice was pitched on the verge of a whine. “Why are we assigned a forest? My speciality is in desert regions, and there are plenty of those… Not to mention, its useless to my research.”

“Fingon,” uncle Finarfin still seemed exhausted. “You have desert designated for tomorrow, but I really need you to do the island. Or, rather, with Voronwë injured, Maedhros is our only pilot good enough to fly close and steady enough for the sensors to break the tree cover. And I thought you would rather stay working in your usual team?”

It was quite obvious that Fingon was both unhappy with the answer, and could not find grounds to object. With his military training, Maedhros was, if not their best pilot, in close running for the title.

Maedhros reached up a hand, gently squeezing Fingon’s arm in a comforting gesture, as he offered his uncle a silent promise that he’d see the work done. At least nobody was objecting to the comment about research - then again, everyone in the room was either Noldorin or had grown up around them. The obsession was to be expected.

“Yes, commander,” Fingon sighed.

“Alright,” Finarfin moved away to answer a few other questions, before dismissing the room with orders for them to be ready to fly out by the next hour.

Which of course meant returning to their individual quarters to change into flight suits, pack anything they needed for the day’s work, inevitably getting distracted and then having to sprint to the shuttle bay.

A normal day. That was all.

* * *

Less than an hour later, the two of them were sat in their shuttle, awaiting the order to set off. Even as he completed the pre-flight checks, Maedhros could hear Fingon grumbling about their assignment. He merely smiled at his friend, making appropriate noises as the complaints continued and he read through the diagnostic reports. Not only were there no faults to be detected - and he ran diagnostics on the diagnostics software just to be doubly safe - but it was reading as every part being in optimal working order. Maedhros was more than a little proud that he had kept his shuttle in such good condition.

Once he had checked, manually double checked, and then ran the scans again to just check he had not broken anything in between, he pressed the button to inform the flight commander he was prepared. The lights on the hanger then swapped from red to amber. He sat back in his chair, looking over to Fingon.

Who promptly pouted, and did up his seatbelt.

“Thank you, Fingon.”

“I still think it’s stupid. You don’t need a spotter flying over trees. Its like the sea - you can’t see anything, and just have to trust the sensors,” Fingon sighed.

Maedhros reached over, gently touching Fingon’s hand, “keep me company, then.”

Fingon did not make further response, so Maedhros let him be. He would cheer up soon enough; he always did.

The amber light flickered to green. With practiced ease, Maedhros gently pressed on the levers, bringing the craft first to a hover, then as the door opened out into space.

The planet below was beautiful, a patchwork of ever so many colours. There was the bright sea, and the various islands were covered in all sorts of bright plant-life. From this distance no structures could be seen on the large planet, nor individual trees, just great expanses of colour. It was, really, quite easy to see why it had been settled. Though how, as the first off-world colony, it had remained so intact was astounding.

But watching the planet was Fingon’s job, and Maedhros’ was to safely fly.

To begin with the crafts approached in unison, splitting off one by one to find their assigned regions. Soon it was their turn to do so, Maedhros gently steering away and towards the large island.

Seeing the planet below, Fingon seemed to forget - or at least come to terms with - his complaint. He unbuckled himself and stood, coming to stand just behind Maedhros and gaze out of the great window.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he whispered.

Maedhros chanced a quick glance up, smiling at the awed expression on Fingon’s face, “yes.”

“No wonder people sought to come here… Do you think they cared to preserve the beauty, or just it has been so long that the world has reclaimed itself?”

Maedhros shrugged in reply; Fingon was the one of the two of them with more experience in the relevant areas to the question. Not as much as Finrod, but far more than he.

“Over there!” he pointed to one of the other islands with excitement. “I know its not our region, but those shadows definitely mark out a building! From the dimension… No idea, honestly. Ask my brother. Those trees! How tall they must be. And that lake! Its so blue! You could use that as a paint reference!”

Smiling, Maedhros flew them towards the south eastern corner of their assigned area. The sea was indeed exceptionally bright, helped by the complete lack of any sort of cloud cover in his area. He did not envy Duilin, who had been asked to fly through what appeared to be a storm another few regions away.

As they swept lower, Fingon gasped.

“Oh! Look!” excited, he pointed out.

Maedhros squinted in that direction, still keeping half an eye on both the monitors and their direction. It was not quite exactly clear, but there appeared to be… No, not a clearing in the trees, but a large raised plateau above them. Most of it was grassy, but there were distinctly, unnaturally grey areas on it. There were also white columns, tall and wide enough to be seen even from their current height.

“Definitely things here then. Maybe we will be able to detect something beneath the trees after all,” Fingon then frowned, pulling a face. “Though, likely, there will be so much interference we can’t tell… But you aren’t going to have had a structure that big without other things.”

“Unless it is the only thing here.”

Fingon shook his head, “I don’t think so? Given the time the colony was established, the chances of there just being this are stupidly low. My job is finding good places to investigate; if it weren’t for all the damn trees, that alone would make this island a place of interest.”

“With the trees it isn’t?”

“Roots,” Fingon replied matter of factly. “They’ll have damaged the foundations, and anything buried. So, with limited budget…”

“Right.”

Fingon did make a response, though Maedhros tuned him out as he checked the monitors again. They were getting close to where they needed to be… The numbers changed constantly, nearly so fast that Maedhros could not read them. Only nearly, though. As they got closer to their assigned position, he slowed up, then tugged on Fingon’s sleeve.

“We’re here?”

“By the time everything’s turned on, we will be.”

“Right,” Fingon turned to grab his computer tablet, opening up the control software for the scanners. He had set it up to give an ever so quiet beep each time he tapped it, making the rhythm of checking local conditions, then adjusting the scanners for it, audible even to Maedhros.

Waiting for confirmation that everything was ready, Maedhros circled over the bottom corner. It would not do for their scans to be incomplete, even if he could see that here was just a short sandy beach between a cliff and the sea.

“... Do we want the mid-range isotope scanners as well?” Fingon looked up.

Maedhros shrugged, “you’re the researcher.”

"May as well. More data will be useful to someone," there were a few more clicks as Fingon set it up, followed by him shifting the tablet around ninety degrees. "All scanners online and operational!"

Maedhros gave him a mock salute, then pulled out of the loop at the designated point, and maintained a steady path. This particular ship had a slightly over-enthusiastic left thruster, though by now he was used to correcting for it.

They both sat quietly as they performed the sweep to regulation standard. Fingon remained sat in his chair, tablet balanced on his knee as his eyes swept over the output charts. Maedhros’ only duties were mostly automatic by now. The slow speed to allow for the scans to perform at a high resolution still caused him a few problems, not to mention how little room there was for variation in the flight paths.

The estimation from on high was that the scanning should, in all, take around six hours. It was about one and a half hours into it that the radio flickered briefly on, then quickly off again.

Maedhros and Fingon shared a look, before Fingon leant forward and flipped the radio to transmit, "Hey, this is Fingon - survey team Calma. Did someone just attempt to make contact?"

"Negative," the person on the other end of the comm-link replied.

"Alright. Thank you."

Maedhros gave Fingon a shrug - maybe it was just a hiccup from the system - and they continued on. From the corner of his eye, he could see Fingon make a quick note of it anyway.

The rest of that pass completed uneventfully, though on the next one the same thing happened. Longer, this time, but ignored.

By the time five more sweeps had passed, it was both apparent that it was some form of repeating interference, including a voice speaking in an unfamiliar language, and it was starting to give Maedhros a headache. With a glance to Fingon, he flicked the radio to transmit as soon as they were past it. "Eletaumbë, this is Flight Lieutenant Nelyafinwë. We are experiencing radio interference in a specific region. It appears to be a communique, though I do not recognise the language. Do require a sample for analysis?"

There was a long pause before the radio operator spoke, "one moment, I will fetch the mission coordinator."

"Thank you," Maedhros turned to raise an eyebrow to Fingon.

Fingon shrugged, "unexpected so wanting a second opinion? There shouldn’t be anything to transmit anymore. The colony had been out of contact for yeni."

They continued their sweeping, awaiting their reply. After not too long, the radio crackled back into life. First to the strange transmission - definitely speech, though this time it came with an interference itself - then the far more familiar voice of Finarfin.

"Survey team Calma, do you copy?"

"Hearing you clearly, uncle!" Fingon replied, allowing Maedhros to concentrate on flying.

"Commander when on duty, Specialist," Finarfin’s voice was less exasperated than when Fingon usually was so informal on the radio. "Laminde says you are receiving a transmission?"

"Yes, sir. Pre-recorded, it seems from the consistency of the loops, though not in a language I recognise. We have a sample recorded."

"I assume that is why you did not respond to my earlier message?"

"We received no earlier message."

There was a long pause, "send the sample. We will analyse it, let you know anything pertinent, and update your system to cancel it out. Proceed as normal, but update us on anything else immediately."

"Copy that. Scans haven’t picked up anything else unexpected, and visuals give us trees and some ruins on a cliff," Fingon leant a little further forward, nearly at risk of falling from his seat. "Will proceed as normal and update."

The other end of the radio link went quiet. They performed one more sweep with the interference, before the console blipped. Before Fingon had a chance to comment, Maedhros had opened it up; it was the promised cancellation patch. With one hand he installed it, and onwards they continued.

Everything was a little less comfortable this time. After a bit, Fingon got up from his seat, peering back down to the planet.

"Hey, look."

"I’m busy, Fingon," Maedhros kept his eyes firmly on the console.

"Suit yourself," Fingon lent over his shoulder. "But I’m fairly sure those are crafted, not grown."

Maedhros double checked that everything was fine with the console, before giving into his own curiosity and sneaking a glance. Now they were closer, they could see patches within the trees where none grew. They were still a little way off, though close enough to be detected on the most dispersed of the ship’s scanners, but still quite clearly there. With some squinting, he could make out what appeared to be metal within them.

"Ah," was his eloquent reply.

"Should we tell uncle?" for some reason, Fingon was asking him.

"Is it unexpected?"

Fingon seemed to take a while to consider it, "the shape is a bit unusual, but given the time period of colonisation… Large metal structures would be expected. We were expecting structures. So, no."

"Your call then," Maedhros’ suspicions that Fingon would rather not bother their uncle were proven true when after five minutes he had still not reported it in.

When they eventually came closer to the structures, it became clear that they were not a standard building, but rather… Strangely shaped cookie cutters that held back the trees, was the only description that Maedhros could think of. Fingon would probably have a better idea of what they were, but he was busy tapping away and taking photos of the view. The shape… Like two zigzags, with bends in the same places but slightly differing angles. They joined at the top and the bottom, but the offset caused them to bulge outwards in the centre.

Photos taken, Fingon finally flicked on the radio to transmit, “Fingon here again.”

“I’ll fetch the commander,” the radio operator replied quickly.

Finarfin’s voice sounded not much after, “status?”

“There’s some sort of structures in the woods. The digitals should have auto-uploaded by now.”

There was silence for a few moments, before their uncle spoke again, “I do not recognise it, but it seems harmless enough. We’re working on decoding the message. I’ll let you know when we’re done.”

“Alright. To confirm - we are to continue?”

“Continue, but with caution,” Finarfin’s voice was particularly serious this time.

“Yes, uncle.”

“And, Maedhros?”

“Hm?” Maedhros paid a little more attention to the conversation.

“I’m trusting your judgement for now.”

“Understood, commander.”

The radio line went dead again.

“Why isn’t he trusting my judgement?” Fingon frowned.

“Sarda, Fingon. Sarda.”

* * *

Some time had passed since the last change. They were now flying over the far side of the closest of the holes in the trees, and from there others could be seen. Together, they seemed almost to point to something, arranged in a circle pointing in as they were. Currently the something was some way off to the left of the ship, though neither of Fingon nor Maedhros, nor for that matter the various sensors, could see what it was. The structure on the plateau was also within the ring, though not at the centre of the circle. So, evidently, that was not what they were locating.

Despite there having been no developments, something seemed… Off. The back of Maedhros’ neck was prickling, though as of yet he could find no actual reason as to why that might be so. Still… His instincts were rarely false.

“I think we might be flying over more structures than just these,” Fingon did not look up from his tablet this time. “The readings have changed. Not a lot, but enough for me to notice without software. The analysis is running, but with everything else as well it’ll take a while.”

“Um-hum,” Maedhros dismissed the words, concentrating on looking for danger.

“It’s weird. Whatever’s down there must be huge, looking at these readings. Or maybe its just a change in geological make-up. If there’s a lot of water in the soil, or its clay, or there’s iron deposits, that can mess with things… Or its debris. Though that doesn’t explain the radioactivity.”

Maedhros zoned out the sound of Fingon continuing to theorise, and continued flying. The answers would come soon enough.

It was another two sweeps later that the radio pinged. Fingon clicked to acknowledge the message. Before he could speak, Finarfin’s voice crackled into existence.

“You need to leave. Right now.” Maedhros could almost taste the fear in his uncle’s voice.

“But-” Fingon began to speak.

It did not matter, Maedhros was already following the order. He quickly pulled on the controls, instinctively turning the shuttle both upwards and to the left.

“The message you intercepted is a warning of… We’re not sure - the translation’s incomplete - but something dangerous enough to leave a recording still playing all this time later. I want you out of there until we’ve performed more thorough scans.”

“But uncle, its been ages. Nothing would last that long.”

“Fingon. I am your commanding officer. You are to-”

“Already, am, commander,” Maedhros pressed hard on the acceleration. “Returning to base ASAP.”

“Thank you, Maedhros,” the relief in Finarfin’s voice was audible, even if you were not looking for it.

It did not last.

Only seconds later, there was the distinct smell of burning and the sound of something straining. The shuttle lent heavily to one side, altitude dropping rapidly.

“Maedhros!” Fingon yelled, fear in his voice.

His fingers ran over the console, eyes flickering between readouts as his hands grasped levers and switches and pressed button after button. It wasn’t… One thruster was damaged, but operational.

The emergency lights flickered brightly on and off, the comms falling silent. There were too many lights to pay attention to them all, swirling into a perfect headache even without Fingon’s yelling.

“Maedhros! What is happening?”

“Damaged thruster. Hold on.”

“Can you-”

“I’m trying! Just sit still and be quiet!”

Immediately, Fingon fell silent; Maedhros never shouted, and on the rare occasions he did, it was never at Fingon. It was a painful silence, and he felt guilty for it, but there was nothing else to be done; he had to concentrate. Maedhros moved quickly, with practice, one hand tapping quickly at a console, and the other flipping switch after switch. His eyes flickered quickly across the read-outs, no longer paying any attention to the planet below.

Lean to the left to counteract the turning effect of the uneven engines, reduce power to the damaged components, reroute to only necessary systems, ease up a little on the right, full tilt up to prevent plummeting, have Fingon manually replace some internal wiring, attempt cutting standard engines to engage emergency propulsion only, ignore his uncle’s concerned nattering… Little more tilt...

And there!

Maedhros breathed a sigh of relief, and gave a nervous laugh, as the shuttle stabilized. Without bothering to confirm, he turned about and started heading back towards the starship. Fingon seemed a little too terrified to object

It was fine, it was all fine, this would not be Haldamir again. Never again. Just a hiccup. He could work around those.

“Eletaumbë, this is Flight Lieutenant Nelyafinwë. Our craft has sustained damage from an unknown source; we are returning with immediate effect,” he flicked the radio to transmit and then receive with a single finger, the rest still busy keeping the damaged vessel in flight.

“We will have a repair crew ready for you. Just get back safely,” it was not Finarfin who replied, but Fingon’s father. Beneath it, there was the sound of Finarfin try to calm Maedhros’ own father in the background. ”Any injuries to report?”

Maedhros quickly looked over the rather pale, though not visibly injured Fingon, biting down his own stress to offer a hopefully reassuring smile.

He flicked the switch to transmit again, to reply an unknown but probably negative.

Somewhere, an explosion sounded.

There was no time to think. No time to react. No time to do. Desperately, Maedhros ignored the concerned shouting from the radio. Tap tap tap. There had to be something. He had to do something.

The console flickered, shot sparks through his hand, pain up his nerves, and the input panel died.

Closer and closer the treeline hurtled, an ever-accelerating descent. Realising that there was nothing else he could, Maedhros curled to protect his chest and head and prayed.

The ship shook. Something crumbled away. There was a terrible sound, and a terrible scream.

“Maedhros!”

And the world went dark.

* * *

Maedhros awoke again to flashing red lights. The alarms were now silent, a blessing upon his pounding headache. The shuttle appeared to have landed on its side, and the only thing preventing Maedhros from slamming face-first into the ground was his seat’s harness.

“Fingon! Are you hurt?” Maedhros called out to the partner he could not see, even as he unclipped his harness. As they came away, he gripped the console with his right hand, dangling for a moment before gently dropping onto his feet.

“I’m good!” Fingon’s voice came from behind him, after a few seconds. “You?”

Maedhros ran a quick visual check over himself; his back and shoulders were sore, and there were bruises beginning to blossom over his left hand. Where his prosthetic connected to his flesh there were some mild burns, but as they had neither blackened nor blistered, he pushed the thought of them away, “nothing that needs attention.”

Fingon hummed his reply, the sound of him tapping away on his records tablet soon the only one that Maedhros could hear. He glanced over Fingon’s shoulder, finding him to be interfacing with those of the ship’s sensors still working to check the local atmospheric conditions. He also looked Fingon over visually, until he was satisfied it was a hum of being bored of the question rather than of hiding something.

Leaving his partner to it, he moved to start checking the damage to the shuttle. Even from the inside, it was quite obvious that they would not be flying anywhere anytime soon; the warnings system had fried itself, and the diagnostics system throwing critical system errors as soon as it was asked to run; it was probably easier to replace the shuttle than get it back in the air.

Maedhros tried to open up the flight log, seeking answers to what had caused the first set of damage, and what exactly had been the cause. As soon as he turned on the screen, however, flickered, crackled and died. When he tried again, it did not even light up. Frowning, he turned to Fingon.

“Can you access the flight logs from there? We need to know what caused the crash.”

“No, those are encrypted and this thing isn’t power enough for decoding,” Fingon replied, still tapping away on the screen. “Though maybe... “

There was a long pause, during which Maedhros continued to try and make things work.

“Right. Sorry, the isotope scans tend to take a bit longer to make human-readable,” Fingon waved his tablet in Maedhros’ direction. “Here’s the analysis on the weird readings I was getting earlier.”

Carefully, Maedhros picked his way over, and took the small computer. His eyes skimmed over the readings. Most of it was to be expected from the planet. Lower down, however, were more interesting things. In the thicker atmosphere of Beleriand one would expect some other particles to become suspended in the air. The levels of radioactive isotopes - all forming part of the same decay chain - were not dangerous, but still unexpectedly high. As well as these, there was a high proportion of metal-dust, and fragmented remains of micro-plastics. He flicked through a couple of the reports, finding that, yes, it was more highly concentrated where the engine had failed. It was very dispersed, and the wrong materials, but not entirely dissimilar from the readings from entering a debris field left behind by battle.

If some of this had found its way into the engine, it was a surprise the entire shuttle had not exploded; a military vessel would have been able to handle it, but a civilian one? And a shuttle at that? There was no reason to fit the filters; they were expensive and bulky and known battlegrounds were off-limits until clean up had occurred.

He passed the tablet back to Fingon, the two of them sharing a frown. 

“Would that explain the damage?” Fingon’s eyes were wide, even as he returned to the screen he had been on.

Maedhros nodded then, realising that Fingon would not see that, made a sound of agreement, “between that and crashing.”

There was another long pause, “but how did it get there?”

Unable to answer the question, Maedhros shrugged in reply and went back to checking the various systems - seeking something that still worked or he could use to log a report. Fingon frowned, uncharacteristically quiet as he worried his lip and continued trawling data outputs.

The shuttle’s own communications systems were damaged, which explained a large part of the silence; even if their own shuttle had been given up as lost, unlikely given the short timeframe, other vessels would still be using the same wavelengths for communication. And Maedhros could not quite imagine either of their fathers not attempting to make contact after such an event. Still, there was an emergency radio in the emergency cupboard…

Maedhros turned towards it, finding the door still shut. Wrenching it open, everything fell to the ground, taking him with it. Fingon looked over at the noise, laughing at the sight. The laugh held anxiety, but was at least one of honest amusement.

After being half-heartedly glared at for a few moments, Fingon hopped over to help. Soon enough, Maedhros was untangled, and they had the radio in hand. It took a little while to set the device up, but eventually it crackled to life. The sound of the garbled warning message loudly echoed around the chamber.

He adjusted the frequency, trying to find any that was free. No matter what he turned to, the ancient alert consumed all other sound. Faced with the vague panic mounting on Fingon’s face, Maedhros offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Wincing slightly at the volume, he bought the microphone up to his mouth and pressed down on the record button. Even after only a few seconds, the momentary silence was blissful.

“Message start. This is Flight Lieutenant Neylafinwë, of Survey Team Calma. I am reporting a crash landing of our own shuttle on Hastaina-452b; no members of the team are seriously injured, but the ship is irreparable and there are multiple more minor injuries. It is not safe to attempt retrieval, and we are not in immediate danger. It is our intention to relocate southwards. Repeat: It is not safe to attempt retrieval. It is our intention to relocate southwards. We request assistance once we reach a safe distance. Message end.”

He set the message up to transmit on the standard emergency wavelength every three minutes, as per protocol, muted it so he did not need to listen to the looping warning, and tucked the radio into a bag. Looking up to Fingon, he gave a slightly better smile, even his own voice echoing into a crescendo, “I thought you wanted to see the surface?”

Fingon’s anxiety manifested into a short laugh, as he waved the tablet, “I suppose. The air here is mostly breathable, but we might want helmets; the stuff that damaged the engine is down here too. Higher concentrations, of course. If it did that to the engine, I don’t want to know what it does to lungs.”

With a serious nod, Maedhros passed Fingon one of the helmets from the wall, before setting up his own.

After a moment’s consideration, he added the first aid kit, a torch and some rations to his bag, then strapped both his knife and his pistol to his belt. He then watched as Fingon made similar preparations for their hike. Except, Fingon’s bag was significantly heavier and less survival orientated; sample bags, artefact bags, various pieces of technology that surely Maedhros had been excitedly shown in the past and then promptly forgotten about. At least he did think to also add some of the rations.

At the raised eyebrow, Fingon offered a smile and a shrug, “if we’re going to have to walk halfway across the island, we may as well make ourselves useful.”

Smiling to his companion with a good dose of fond exasperation, Maedhros forced open the emergency hatch - the actual door being buried in the dirt - and pulled himself outside.

The damage to the shuttle was immediately apparent. Something had torn through not only the shielding but also a large amount of the structurally necessary plating. How it had remained intact to crash land with the two of them still inside, Maedhros was not exactly certain. Still, he was grateful that it had. He reached out to gently brush his hand over the tortured metal, mentally apologising to his poor shuttle.

There was the click of Fingon’s camera behind him, breaking him from the mood.

“Sorry! Just recording the mess we made so it can be accounted for if anyone does decide to record this place fully,” Fingon did not look in the slightest bit sorry, but there was something reassuring about his constant cheer.

Maedhros fondly shook his head, gave the side of the shuttle a final pat, and started trying to orientate himself instead. The compass had given him a clear indicator of the direction of which way was Beleriand’s south, though there was still the matter of how they would get that way; they had made themselves a small clearing via their landing, but otherwise they were surrounded by plants and trees. The trees were tall - taller than any plant life that Maedhros had previously seen - with pale, papery trunks and black leaves. Those leaves were translucent, allowing a little hazy light through, and had specks of glittering silver along their undersides. Most were wrapped in vines - great, thick, purple vines, with spindly roots digging into the tree’s flesh and bulbous, almost mushroom-like, growths in the place of leaves. While the trees seemed to be a thing of beauty, great white pillars holding up a dark sky of tiny stars, the vines were repulsive and something about them seemed deeply uncomfortable to Maedhros. Each of the trees wrapped in the vines seemed paler, almost withered compared to their companions. Their branches, when pushed, were also far more brittle. He wanted to cut the vines away, to free the trees, but that was neither the purpose of the expedition, nor actually possible for one elf - even two elves - in a forest of such size.

While Fingon made record, Maedhros moved a little way south; still easily within running and shouting distance, but just to check the plants were passable. They were, and thinned as he went. When he brushed against a vine it prickled slightly, not quite like a nettle but close. Probably something similar in the leaves, he reasoned.

Maybe thirty or so yards away from their landing site, the trees stopped abruptly, stopped by great walls of tightly packed vines. These ones were different, however; they were covered in what looked like absolutely normal grapes. Now he thought about it, they did look rather like the grapevines their grandfather tended to back on their homestation.

Something drew him closer, and ever so gently Maedhros pushed aside some of the vines. They moved surprisingly easily, revealing a small amount of obviously worked, crumbling wood. Now he looked more closely, he could see bits of metal shining through from behind the vines. Reaching up to cut away some of them - the top of the gate was high up even to Maedhros’ apparently unreasonable height - he found… Definitely engraving. Probably words, though the script was entirely unfamiliar to him. All straight lines and proper edges, unlike the curling tengwar he was so used to. Easier to engrave if a little harder for calligraphy, from the looks of things.

“Fingon,” he did not raise his voice, trusting it to carry such a short distance in the almost uncanny silence.

“Coming!” The reply was louder, and muffled slightly by the excess of plant-life.

The noise of Fingon fighting his way through the vines was reassuringly present, against the absolute lack of wind or animals, and a few moments later he emerged. There was a look of pure wonder on his face as Maedhros pulled the vines back away from the gate, demonstrating what he had found.

“Is that… Cirth?” for a moment even Fingon’s voice was barely more than a whisper, before he shook his head. “I think so - fascinating… I can’t read it, but Finrod can. That would date this… Wait, no, Beleriand was colonised before we started using Tengwar, so it doesn’t date it at all, they may well- Right, could you just move slightly that way?”

Without comment, Maedhros did as he was asked. The click of the camera a few fractions of a second later was entirely expected, as were the instructions to move himself - and the grapevines entrapped between mechanical fingers - once again for another angle. It took him until about the fourth photograph to realise that Fingon was also using him as a standard measure.

“I guess we go around now?” Fingon had finally finished, and seemed almost disappointed by the idea.

Maedhros shrugged, then realised he should expand on his response, “I cannot see a way around, but neither can I see very far.”

“Well we could not possibly use the gate,” Fingon gesticulated as he spoke. “The wood is rotten through, and if we damaged it…”

“We’re stranded on-” Maedhros started to argue his point, then looked at Fingon’s expression. He knew the heartbreak on it was exaggerated, it always was, but... “Fine. Wait here a moment.”

Carefully, he checked over the integrity of the vines and wall. Only when he was certain that it was safe did Maedhros start scrambling up. It took a few minutes for him to scale it. The wall was wide enough to comfortably stand on, and had what appeared to be small trap doors intermittently. Cautiously, he flipped one open with his metal hand. Inside was what seemed to have once been part of a pulley system. The ropes had long decayed away, though the metal parts still seemed intact.

Before gambling Fingon’s life on that assumption, Maedhros gave the system a few hard kicks. Satisfied, he tied his own rope to it, then tossed it down to Fingon. A yell of thanks noted his collection of it, for all most of the sound was absorbed by the time it reached so high.

Waiting for his colleague to finish the climb, Maedhros turned to look down over the other side of the wall. The trees continued for some distance, hiding anything either within. He was fairly certain it was still day on this planet, but their canopy expanded even over the region of the wall, the blanket of false stars continuing.

As he watched out, Fingon arrived, then promptly began climbing down the other side. Once he was done, Maedhros untied the rope. He wound it back into his bag - who knew when they would need it again - and used the grapevines to climb down once more.

Fingon took his hand once they both reached the ground on the far side of the wall, and together they pressed southwards.

* * *

The forest continued on and on and on. Overhead remained the blanket of false stars, shading out most of the light. It was still just about bright enough to see, but murky; Maedhros hated to think what it would be like when it was fully dark. Hopefully… No, with just how large the area to cover was, and the increased gravity making every step cost so much more, they would not be safely away before they needed to rest.

When a change came, it came quickly. One moment, they were walking through trees, and the next they were confronted by a cliff-face.

Maedhros and Fingon shared a look. The wall of rock carried on up into the treeline; most likely, they stood at the base of the cliff with the ruins. Or at least, Maedhros assumed that it was that cliff. He had not seen any others.

“I know we should try and go around, but…” Fingon gave Maedhros a tired smile. “We do have climbing gear, right?”

Maedhros sighed, before nodding. Of course Fingon would want to go up and see the ruins for himself. From the size of the thing from above, it was probable that going over would be just as fast. If they were lucky, another side would have the remains of a path back down, decreasing their time further.

“Thank you!” Fingon began to squirrel around in his pack, pulling out his own set of equipment.

They carefully prepared themselves, Maedhros checking everything multiple times, before beginning their climb.

It was a much longer way up than either of them had quite realised, and took far longer too. By the time they reached flat ground again, Maedhros was panting and Fingon's determined expression brown by sweat. Now clear of the treeline they could see it was… Still a little before noon. If noon were defined as when the sun was at the highest point. Now he considered it, Maedhros realised he hadn’t actually checked how long a day here was.

The ground here, even after what must have been so long, was unnaturally flat, with the ruins spied from above being a few tens of meters away. The only plants to be seen were grass, lichen and the bulbous vines. The grass covered the bits of ground that were not bare rock, growing in little tufts, while the vines wrapped around pillars and lichen grew on great boulders bearing tool marks.

Before Maedhros has managed to put away his climbing gear, Fingon was already wandering the area, alternating between starting in awe and taking intensive notes.

Maedhros followed a little way behind, eyes carefully scanning for any danger.

"It's strange," Fingon mused. "I would have thought there would be more metal here, given the age. Nobody really used stone then… Everything should be metal, not these pillars. I guess maybe Beleriand is short of it? Or- Oh, hang on."

He turned sharply, jogging over to another part of the wide area. Maedhros followed closely behind - at least up until the moment Fingon suddenly stopped, and dropped to his knees. He watched as Fingon poked the floor a little, before returning to his patrol. Still no animals or birds - no life but the plants.

"I was right! See these markings here?" he snapped his camera rather than pointing, even when Maedhros looked over. "They did use metal here! Its just… Gone… But I would have thought to have-"

Fingon looked around, automatically typing hasty notes into his tablet as he did so, "Turgon would know better, of course, but maybe… ah! There! Right. So, stone supporting metal structures? But then where is… Where did it go? There’s not enough rust for that to have destroyed it all…"

He fell silent, glaring at the wide open space before him. It gave Maedhros a little time; having found no threat, he began tracing out the grooves on the floor, following them around. If Fingon was correct, they should have noted the walls to the building. But these ones had no rust in the grooves, almost as though they had held no metal. Or, he supposed, the metal they had held was of a different sort.

Listening to the stream of words that Fingon had started back up, his companion had had the same idea. Still, Maedhros knew he would be of no help - by now Turgon would surely have already worked out the dimensions and use of this building, but he was back on the ship preparing for the proper ground investigations scheduled for next week. Not that Maedhros would rather have been with Turgon; the two of them clashed as often as they got along.

Turning a corner, Maedhros noticed something a little different. Just out of the corner of his eye… turning to face it, hand already on weapon, he spotted a pile of discarded… definitely worn metal. Not enough to account for all that was missing, and certainly the wrong shapes for the grooves, but metal none the less. Largely aluminium, to look at it. He approached, calling for Fingon to come over.

Crouching beside it, he found the shapes familiar. Worn, rusted, and very obviously of ancient design, but within what appeared to have once been a room - tucked away between two pillars - was a pile of discarded engine parts. Spaceship engine parts.

Many of them were unfamiliar to him, but others not so; while there had been advances over the many years, certain fundamentals of space flight remained the same. At least they did if you wanted something easy for a small crew to replace alone.

The click of the camera announced Fingon's presence, and was shortly followed “those are… what?”

Maedhros smiled, pleased to be of use for once, "engine parts, I think. Most of them I've never seen but those…" he pointed one out, and Fingon made a record of which one "cannot be anything but the coils for a multi-flux synchronisation system, and that has to be a part of a modulator. Gravitational, probably. Broken, definitely. Half of it is missing."

“And that one?” Fingon pointed to a particularly oddly shaped piece.

“Part of an old-style steering system.”

"So this is, what…" Fingon turned to look around squinting. "It's not big… wait, no… you have the big area in the middle. If that's open to the air instead of a room…"

Maedhros remained quiet, letting Fingon think.

He jogged out into the middle of the area, spinning arms wide to face back to Maedhros, "this has to be a port for repairing shuttles. Explains why its so clear of plants, even now. But where did the shuttles go?"

Another long pause as Fingon looked around.

"Or… building them? Maybe that's where the metal from the walls went! Spaceship parts!" he stopped. "No, that's ridiculous, there's no reason you'd need a shuttle so fast that you disassembled your port."

There are a couple of reasons why you might that Maedhros could think of. None of them boded well for the once citizens of Beleriand, but then the fact there had been no contact for centuries spoke of the same thing. You melted down your spaceport if you did not have time or manpower to mine, and needed to leave.

"Never mind," Fingon's voice had fallen quieter, saddened, likely coming to the same conclusions, "I've got enough to prove here is interesting, and have what notes our situation affords me to get. We should move on…"

"We can stay a little longer, if you wish," Maedhros want quite sure what the cause of Fingon's mood was, but gently lay a hand on his shoulder regardless.

"No,no. It's alright. I think I saw an actual road down over there," Fingon brushed off the hand, sighed, and made his way in the direction be had indicated.

Following, Maedhros could not help but frown. Yes, Fingon definitely had come to the same conclusions, and it appeared to have burst what happiness he could find in the situation. With Fingon feeling more miserable… Maedhros could not help but follow.

* * *

Fingon seemed to cheer up a little as they followed the path, though not entirely. No amount of concerned looks seemed to pull the issue from his lips.

Soon, it became necessary to pay all of his attention to the path instead. It was over-grown with roots and a thousand sorts of plants - the only ones Maedhros could not find were the strange bulbous vines - and not tripping became a difficult exercise in its own right.

Still, the edges of the path remained clearly denoted. At first simply by being a ramp down the cliff, then a large gap between the trees, and finally marked by some form of glowing metal sticks planted at the side. Checking them, they were slightly, but not dangerously, radioactive. Or would not be so long as they did not linger. Fingon made records of one, but had the sense to leave them in situ.

It was not actually obvious where the forest path ended and the city streets began, still surrounded by trees and lit by the radioactive lights. Indeed, the first signs of it either of them saw were steps carved into a still-living tree. Again, Fingon recorded, but deferred to Maedhros’ better judgement of not going to explore what seemed to be platforms up near the leaves.

When they pressed a little further and they found recognisable buildings at ground level, Fingon began to ignore said better judgement. Or, well, he nearly did, but thought better of it at the last second.

“We should leave this to people with actual equipment. I… Will break something. You do not open any doors either.”

Maedhros had not been intending on doing so - even if it was against protocol to do such without strict necessity, he was not thrilled by breaking into even an abandoned house.

Protocol did not stop either of them from peering through the windows, however.

The rooms were surprisingly familiar. Mostly they were living quarters and dining halls and one showed what seemed to be a library. All still contained what appeared to be the remains of significant and many personal items - photograph frames holding rotted scraps of pictures, the decayed remains of hand-made furnishings, a stack of memory drives for the library’s computer terminals packed as though to transport but abandoned - but there was nothing that seemed out of some form of storage place.

Well, a few of the living areas had children’s toys scattered around, but Maedhros suspected that would be true of any room that had ever been occupied by a child.

Still…

“This is too tidy for war, too organised for a nuclear disaster… Even for disease or famine,” Fingon verbalised what Maedhros was thinking. “But to leave photographs? … Unless they had a very different culture, you would take those when leaving… I suppose maybe not if you thought you would return, or had to pack very quickly…”

“It looks almost like they just packed up for a holiday,” the frown in Maedhros’ voice did not quite reach his face.

Fingon made a noise of agreement, adding more notes to his tablet, “You sound about right. Maybe those computer drives have answers, but honestly? If I touch them, they’ll fall apart, and we don’t have anything to read them on anyway.”

“Leave it for the specialists,” Maedhros agreed, gently pushing Fingon further onwards.

And if that pushing his companion onwards was in any way related to the skeleton that only Maedhros had spotted in a shadowed corner of the library, nobody could blame him.

* * *

The city proved to be large, but much of the same everywhere. Well, there had been what looked to be a hospital (free of visible elven remains, to Maedhros’ vague confusion) and an administrative centre, but again they were merely marked into Fingon’s notes and the pair continued on.

Outside the city they failed to find a path, so they resorted to Maedhros’ compass once again. South they went, back into the forest, and hour after hour passed.

Maedhros could feel himself flagging, and assumed that for all he seemed to have brightened up emotionally, Fingon’s movements became slower as though tired. His thought was proven when he saw Fingon use a tester from his emergency pack to check the immediate air quality, lift up his helmet and take a bite of a ration bar before putting it back on.

“Look out for somewhere to rest,” Maedhros’ voice easily cut the silence in half. “It may as well be night-time.”

The comment earnt him a smile, but not reply. That was only further proof of Fingon’s exhaustion. Resolving to keep a closer eye on his companion, he pressed them both on.

* * *

A little while later, Fingon stopped, and pointed at something in the distance, “will that do?”

Squinting ahead, Maedhros spied what appeared to be another, smaller, metal structure. It was quite clearly uninhabited, with a tree growing through its roof and wrapped in the thick, bulbous vines, but it appeared it would still offer some shelter. He shrugged his response, cautiously approaching the structure. Fingon followed a few steps behind, hands grasping at his camera.

Up close, it became clear that the metal had once been painted as to blend in with its surroundings. Most of said paint was long gone, but some small patches held on for dear life. It was a small building, maybe two small rooms or one fair sized one. On this side was a door, but no windows. Above the door was what appeared to be a plaque, with more cirth engraved into it. Most likely labelling the building.

Behind him, Maedhros could hear Fingon photographing the structure. Then, he reached out and took a small sample of the paint, quickly sealing it in a finds bag.

“May I open the door?”

“We should not disturb it…”

Maedhros waited, watching Fingon as he frowned and squinted at the door. Seeing this was not going to be over anytime soon, he started checking over the trees. The continuing lack of wildlife was still… Unsettling. He really would have expected to see something else moving by now. Or hear a bird. Or maybe even just some broken twigs. But, no, nothing.

Finally, Fingon came to a conclusion, “Alright… I’m not my brother so I make no promises, but so long as you’re careful the hinges should hold…”

Sure enough, when Maedhros reached out and opened the door moments later, it creaked horribly but remained intact.

It was dark in the building, with all the light coming from behind him or through tiny cracks. Stepping inside, something crackled beneath his foot - more like stepping on a pile of leaves than anything.

Fingon peaked under his shoulder, before ferreting around in his bag and pulling out a torch. The beam of light swept around first.

There were the remains of pull-out beds to one side, six unfolded, in two rows of three, from the wall and rotted to its frame alone. It was hard to tell if they had been left out, or fallen as their latches rusted away. The other side had upon the walls shelves containing the husks of books, and then a table with what seemed like ruined, ancient computers, and odds and ends of crockery, covering it. Also on the table, in the middle, a board game obviously left out half-finished, though it was not one Maedhros recognised. And then, directly before the door, a long bench up against a lip, which seemed to be the sill of very narrow, shuttered windows. The remains of a few rifles were tucked under the bench. The entire room was covered in the thick, bulbous vines of before, though these ones were grey and brittle where the others had been fleshy - dead, most likely.

“Can you hold this and point it as I tell you? I want to make records before we touch anything…” Fingon thrust the torch in Maedhros’ direction, “starting with the bookshelves.”

They moved from place to place, Fingon switching rapidly between camera and tablet and sample bags. They worked from the bookshelves across the room, treading very carefully so as to disturb as little as possible. It was impossible not to step on the dead vines, for they covered the entire floor, but Fingon seemed to consider that an acceptable sacrifice. They were, after all, both natural and dead.

It was on the examination of the beds that Fingon stopped fluttering about. The vines were even covering those, though seemed to have given way under their own weight after death, leaving only the bits looped around the frames behind. He had taken notes on the upper parts, then asked Maedhros to angle the torch down through them, so he could see the bottom. Maedhros himself had not actually been looking, still distracted by trying to work out what books were books.

“Mae…?”

The hesitation in Fingon’s voice made Maedhros turn sharply to him, “yes?”

“Are those… Bones?”

Maedhros peered down. Beneath the lowest bedframe, and nestled within the vines, were bits of white. Checking his surroundings carefully, he knelt down and bought the torch closer. Very gently, he pushed one of the dead vines away slightly. It crumbled beneath his touch. What lay beneath was very clearly an Eldarin skull. A quick glance and he saw three others in the jumbled pile of bones, each at least a little broken. Some entirely shattered.

“Yes.”

“And under the other beds too?”

He flashed the torch over there, spotting the distinctive colour now he knew what he was looking for, “yes.”

“I see,” Fingon moved a lot more carefully, photographing the piles of bones. From their location under the beds, and the scattered way in which they seemed to have fallen, Maedhros assumed the corpses had once been on the beds. He thought of the half-finished board game, and the crockery around the computers on the table. Did they… Go to bed, then neither wake up nor ever be found? If so, what had killed them? A silent attack in the night? A surprise infection? So close to the city, surely not exposure or starvation.

Clearly the bones were old, with not a single piece of flesh on them and the vines grown over them. Any threat would have left long ago, or died itself. But still...

“We… Should move on,” Maedhros did not wish to admit to being unsettled, but he unquestionably was.

Uncharacteristically quiet, Fingon nodded his assent. He clicked one last photograph of the piles of bones, before taking Maedhros’ flesh hand. Maedhros gave the hand a comforting squeeze, and did not let go as he led them back outside and far, far away.

* * *

The two of them did not stop until they were far from the city. They passed over another great wall - Maedhros once again going ahead - and continued further into the forest. Every so often they checked the radio, trying to see if they were outside of the danger zone yet, and every time they were not.

They tried to press on, more on Fingon’s insistence than Maedhros’, but eventually exhaustion won out. Seeing Fingon flag, Maedhros began looking for somewhere to make camp. A little way further, and he found… Not quite a clearing, for the sky was still covered in leaves, but an area where the trunks of the trees were thinner. Also only the trees on one side of the space were wrapped in the strange mushroom-vines. Still unsettled, Maedhros led them to the far side of the space. He settled himself down against one of the trees, one hand still around Fingon’s and the other moving to search his bag for rations. As he did so, Fingon ran more thorough tests on the local air quality.

Once he found something they could eat, he looked up to see Fingon still standing there, with his helmet in his free hand.

“Sit,” he gave the hand in his grasp a little tug, and Fingon came to sit beside him.

Almost immediately, Fingon curled into his side. Maedhros let go of his hand to wrap the arm over his shoulders, pulling him a little closer, and offered up one of the lembas biscuits.

“Thank you,” Fingon’s voice was tired as he took the biscuit.

Maedhros gave a small chuckle in response, removing his own helmet to eat now that his hands were free.

“When are we moving on again?” Fingon spoke again between nibbles.

It was a few moments of observing Fingon before Maedhros answered, “probably not until morning. Your tablet still has the time?”

“Um-hum,” he saved his notes, swapping app to the clock. “Oh. That’s late.”

Maedhros peered down to look at it; they should have returned three hours ago. No wonder they were tired and hungry and sore. They are quietly, applied ointment from the first aid kit to their various injuries, plastered up the blisters on both of their feet, then simply sat in silence, leaning on one another. Each was absorbed in his own thoughts. Maedhros’ were of their family, hoping nobody was panicking too much and that his father was cooperating. He did not believe that would be what occurred, but… He could hope.

Eventually, Fingon who spoke up.

“If I have to be stranded on a formally inhabited, now dead, alien planet, I’m glad I’m stuck with you,” the words were said with a wide yawn, but a pitch of fear in them.

“Go to sleep, Fingon,” Maedhros eventually replied, as he moved his arm to rest lower on Fingon’s back. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Don’t forget to have some too,” Fingon murmured back.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Fingon’s response was merely a noise of acceptance as he laid his bag aside and curled closer. Maedhros took one of the blankets from his bag, draping it over the two of them, and fondly stroked a hand over Fingon’s hair.

It did not take long for Fingon to fall asleep, marked by the slowing and evening out of his breathing. Maedhros himself kept the one arm wrapped protectively around his companion’s shoulders, and the other on his pistol. For some time he stayed that way, still as a statue and keen eyes watching for any sign of trouble.

His intention was to wake Fingon after about four hours, then letting the other take watch while he himself rested a while. His intention had been well planned, and the best of such.

But he was also exhausted, and the blanket was warm, and the pressure of Fingon at his side a comforting distraction from the situation. Barely two hours after Fingon, Maedhros also drifted off to sleep.

All was quiet, but for the breathing of the two sleeping Eldar. And, overhead, the not-stars flickered from the leaves of the trees.

* * *

“Maedhros! Maedhros!”

He was awoken by panicked shouting, and frantic tugging on his sleeve. Immediately, Maedhros pushed onto his knees, and tried to raise his pistol.

He failed to raise his pistol.

What? Why? Sleepiness and panic merged into one, and he had to take a moment to orient and test.

His hand was stuck. Looking down, he found the purple, mushroom-y vines had encroached towards them in the night, and were now wrapped around his prosthetic. And covering most of the clearing. All coming towards them. That they had moved so close over the course of only one night- No, it was fine, just weirdly fast plants and optical illusions and unexpected tangling.

“Oh, thank Eru,” Fingon sighed in relief, then started to ramble out his problem even as Maedhros tried to tug it free. “My bag is gone, and you were asleep, and you were supposed to wake me up and I thought something had- Maedhros? What’s wrong?”

“Just some vines on my hand,” Maedhros tried to tug his hand free, frowning as he failed.

He ignored whatever Fingon’s response was, fishing around his own pack - still present - until he found his knife. First, he tried to slip it beneath the vines on his hand, but found them firmly stuck to the metal. Frown deepening, he leant over to cut at the place where the vines met the hand.

No matter what he tried, his hand remained entangled. As he tried and tried, it became harder not to panic. Harder and harder to breathe. Harder and harder and harder for vines not to become razor wire, biting biting biting, mutilating the flesh- No, no flesh, only metal and plastic and electronics.

“Fingon? I think I’m at the wrong angle? Could you see if you could cut it free?” Maedhros dared not look at his companion as he held out the knife towards him.

Fingon scooted over, taking the blade and carefully tried to cut them. From the corner of his eye, Maedhros saw Fingon frown, then try a little sharper and harder.

The frown became a scowl, as Fingon moved to test the blade on the corner of the blanket. The cut was perfectly clean. Scowling harder, he gently pressed a finger to it. From the speed at which he pulled away, and the loud ‘ow!’, it was quite clearly sharp.

“I can’t,” Fingon’s voice had blanked of emotion, which could only mean he was on the brink of being consumed by panic. “It won’t even scratch them.”

“Okay…” Maedhros took a deep breath. Whatever these… Vines were, they needed to move. “There’s four switches just me-side of where my wrist is. One on each side. If you flick them all at once it should release my hand.”

“Why does your hand come off?” Fingon sounded a little more panicked, and so was probably slightly calmer.

That was probably a good thing; Maedhros could feel himself slipping, fear dripping through his mind every moment he was trapped, “maintenance.”

Fingon made a noise of acknowledgement, fiddling with switches. It did not take long for the hand to come loose, but not long was more than enough. As soon as he could, he pulled his arm away, curling what was left of his wrist protectively to his chest. Not again, not again. He could feel the plasma knife, cutting away his hand and sealing the bleeding in one. And then carving patterns into his back, dancing dangerously close to his spine. The sound of his squad dying one by one, his own haunted laughter when rescue came and everyone else was a corpse. The fear and the chains and the ‘I’m so, so sorry’ and the ‘there’s nothing we could do’ and the ‘oh, Maedhros…’

There was a sharp hiss. Maedhros glanced over, looking to Fingon. There was the click of the camera, then the other looked up.

“It… I think it put roots through your hand,” Fingon looked distinctly pale, but also somewhat fascinated. “I can see roots in it. How did it…”

Maedhros took a moment to gather himself, before glancing over. Sure enough, from between two halves of a joint, part of the vine’s root could be seen trying to poke into the light.

“I have no idea,” just a little further, and they would have burrowed into his hand. And with the speed at which the vines had encroached on the clearing… “Leave it. Let us seek your bag.”

He turned from his hand, keeping the arm to which it had been attached curled to his chest. Using only his other, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Will you be alright?” Fingon’s eyes were wide and concerned.

Maedhros could not work out how to verbally respond to the inquiry, instead taking his pistol in his remaining hand, checking his bag was securely strapped in place, and looking about. Ignore the question. Finish the mission. Always ignore and finish.

“Maedhros?”

He waved off the concern, looking about. Spotting what looked like the marks of something being dragged along the ground, “We are looking for your bag.”

Without waiting for a response, Maedhros walked off along the trail. He could almost hear Fingon pulling a face, and actually him following along behind. Of course he wasn’t alright. But it was not as though Fingon could help. Razor wire and knives and - just follow the trail.

Everything is okay; just follow the trail.

* * *

Said trail was long and winding, giving Maedhros a chance to calm himself, and led to what appeared to be an animal den underneath one of the great trees. Finally, finally some sort of animal life on this wretched planet. It would have been difficult to notice, if not for Fingon’s bag discarded just next to it. The bag was open, and the contents scattered about. Though they wound thickly around the tree, none of the contents seemed to have been touched by the vines. Maedhros made a quick check around, keeping his pistol trained on the den just in case, before nodding to Fingon.

Hopping from foot to foot as he tried not to step on anything dangerous, Fingon collected his bag, and the scattered items, and checked the contents.

“The food is missing. So is my tablet,” he frowned.

Maedhros sighed. Of course the most important thing in the bag had gone missing, “we should be close enough to the edge to not suffer for the food.”

“... Will you hate me if I want to check the den for my tablet?”

“I would advise against it,” Maedhros shook his head. “But I could never hate you.”

“Good enough!” Fingon beamed at him, before getting down on his hands and knees, and shining his torch into the den.

As Maedhros watched, Fingon’s face went deathly pale. One hand reached out cautiously, and gently scooted his tablet back to him. Leaving the torch, he leant back onto his heels, “um… Maedhros?”

He moved swiftly over, gently resting his stump on Fingon’s shoulder, letting him know he was there even as he kept a flickering glance around for trouble. Fingon scooped up his tablet, hugging it tightly.

“Can you… Look in the den?”

The hesitation betrayed fear. He would far rather have just left, but… well, knowing what this creature was would probably help. Gently he nudged Fingon out of the way, before crouching down himself. The torch he propped on a rock, angling it down into the darkness, before looking himself.

Five bright red eyes, thin and slitted almost like a cat’s, stared back at him. After a few moments of trying to focus on the darkness, he could make out two small forms. Short and stocky, completely black, shaped more like foxes than their catty eyes implied. Three eyes each to go with it. The one with all three open was far smaller, likely a pup, while the other… Squinting a little harder, Maedhros could see the vines tightly wrapped around its lower part, and also partly over its face, hiding the third eye and trapping it in a position of sleep. Forcing himself to listen closely, and hushing Fingon, he could make out very faint, lethargic and distressed mewls from that creature. There was some evidence that it had been struggling, but its movements now seemed to speak of impending death.

“I… I think the vines are eating it,” Fingon whispered. “Can we-?”

Maedhros thought of the vines in his hand, and shuddered harder.

“We couldn’t cut them before,” he replied, looking away a moment to do so. “I doubt we can now.”

Fingon grimaced, and Maedhros was sure the expression was reflected on his own face. When Maedhros looked back, it seemed almost as though the vines had inched a little closer. The two remaining eyes from the trapped creature had gone dark, and the pup seemed to be trying to scramble away.

Only to get caught on the lembas wrappers scattered about the entrance to the den - surely evidence of the creatures’ feast last night.

“What about the baby?”

Knowing exactly where this was going, Maedhros winced. However, he picked himself off of the floor, turning to look at the forest, “you should let the nature here take its course. We do not know what diseases it carries, or what it eats, or even what it breathes.”

“Um-hum,” Fingon replied.

Shaking his head, Maedhros made an active point of turning an intentionally blind eye to whatever Fingon was doing. From the sound of him cooing and scrambling it was quite - Maedhros took a deep breath, before beginning to hum a loud tune. Plausible deniability would get you everywhere in life.

The unusual bulge in Fingon’s pack when he looked back could of course be explained by the amount of samples he had insisted on taking, and if it shifted about sometimes that was just because they were trying to quickly cover uneven ground.

Obviously.

* * *

The rest of the journey south passed blissfully uneventfully, though it was getting harder and harder for Maedhros to ignore just what Fingon had been up to. After a little while, Maedhros turned the radio back on, listening as the warning message became less and less distinct.

By the time it had been entirely lost to the static, Maedhros’ legs ached. He could only imagine what Fingon felt like, if with all his training he was this sore. Still, they walked on a little further, finding their way to a clearing just large enough for one of the smaller shuttles to - with a skilled pilot - land in.

They made a silent check for any dangers. At Maedhros’ nod, Fingon flopped down beside a tree, tugging off one of his boots to massage his foot. Maedhros gave one last sweep, before sitting down beside him and pulling out the emergency radio.

Just to be on the safe side, he quickly replaced the battery pack, before searching for the standard wavelength with the least static. Selecting one, he picked up the microphone. Fingon rolled his eyes, sitting up and gesturing for it.

He passed it over.

“Eletaumbë, this is Research Specialist Findekáno, of Survey Team Calma. Flight Lieutenant Neylafinwë is with me. We believe we have made it beyond the dangerous zone, but if you could confirm that, that’d be great,” Fingon sounded exhausted, and Maedhros did not quite have the heart to roll his eyes as he drifted away from proper protocol.

The reply took longer than expected, with even Maedhros beginning to feel uncomfortable with the situation. Usually, such a wait would only-

“Fingon?” the frantic voice of uncle Fingolfin crackled over the radio, startling both of them a little. Fingolfin was not supposed to be on the communications; he had most of a ship to run.

“Father?” Fingon’s voice cracked a little, and Maedhros reached out to offer him his arm. Fingon immediately curled into his side. “Why are you-?”

Fingon’s voice faltered, and there were a few moments of silence before Fingolfin replied, “because I’m worried about you, Káno. And Maedhros too. Are either of you injured?”

“Scrapes and bruises and minor burns... Also Maedhros’ hand was kidnapped by evil, flesh-eating, mushroom-vines...”

Maedhros, now close enough to be picked up by the microphone, added, “the prosthetic. And, while I cannot find other injuries, we were both involved in a high-speed shuttle craft and have been in an alien biome for an extended period. Please do not take our words on the matter.”

“Thank you both,” Fingolfin sounded a little less fraught. “Both of you will be reporting straight to medical on returning, and you are not getting out of it… Speaking of which… What is your current location?”

“Unsure,” Fingon took back over. “A clearing a little way further than where we stopped getting alert messages to the radio?”

There was another long pause, “Maedhros, I trust you at least know how to build a signalling fire. See to it; Aredhel is preparing to come get you.”

Fingon and his father continued to talk, but Maedhros had already moved away to start constructing the fire. With only one hand it took significantly longer than he would have liked, and led to his functional wrist smarting, but he saw the action through to the end. As he did so, he kept half an ear out, but the parts of the conversation he could hear seemed mostly to be Fingon giving a somewhat scattered verbal report of their findings.

Only once the fire was built, and he was certain that it would remain lit, did Maedhros return to Fingon’s side. He reached out his arm again, allowing him to curl into his side.

“Fire is ready, commander,” he reported.

“Maedhros,” there was a sigh in Fingolfin’s voice. “Will you boys be alright until Aredhel gets there?”

“We’ve managed this far, and we are hardly children,” Fingon grumbled back.

“I know, Káno, I know,” Fingolfin did not sound reassured. “I need to make sure everyone knows what is going on. Aredhel will be with you shortly. If anything at all changes, get back in contact immediately.”

“See you soon, dad?” Fingon’s face was not nearly as cheerful as his voice, so Maedhros pulled him a little closer.

“See you soon.”

The line went dead, and Fingon curled closer, taking out his camera and flicking through the photos stored upon it. Maedhros looked down, wincing as he saw the mess that had been made of his prosthetic.

“Oh, sorry,” Fingon very gently headbutted his side,

Maedhros shook his head, pulling him a little closer and instead turning to watch their surroundings. Nearly home now, but it was always the last little while you had to be most careful… Not because you were necessarily more likely to be in danger, but that thoughts of leaving could distract from noticing before it was too late.

It wouldn’t have been the first time it had happened to Maedhros.

Fingon, evidently noting his dark mood, tugged on his sleeve, “thank you.”

Not entirely sure what he was being thanked for, Maedhros just gave his companion a small squeeze.

“And, don’t fall asleep this time,” Fingon teased.

“Your sister won’t take that long.”

“Probably.”

Maedhros shook his head fondly, and turned his attention back to the forest. Fingon shifted to updating his notes, making use of the otherwise empty time.

* * *

In the end, they did not have to wait very long. At the distinctive sound of a shuttle overhead, Maedhros grabbed Fingon’s hand and pulled him a short way into the treeline. It was not that he did not trust Aredhel’s piloting capabilities, more that he knew exactly how tight the space was.

Though, it did appear she had more sense than Maedhros’ own brothers; she had bought one of the older, smaller shuttles.

The shuttle was successfully landed in the clearing, a hatch opening up only moments later. Fingon approached pulled himself up without difficultly, reaching down to spare Maedhros a hand. It was with much discomfort that he realised that he did actually need the assistance of that hand.

Inside, he was immediately confronted with the back of Aredhel’s head, with its familiar braids, as she flipped the switch to shut the hatch again. Once it was done so, she glanced back over her shoulder. Fingon gave her a slightly sheepish wave, while Maedhros made an active effort to keep his face blank. Her face was serious as she looked them over, softening for a second check of her brother.

“Well, welcome to my humble vessel. I am your captain for the next ten minutes, so once you’re sitting comfort- Fingon, what is in your bag?”

Rather than answer Aredhel’s question, Maedhros went to one of the seats. Rather than strap in immediately, he looked back to find Fingon and Aredhel in a staring contest, the snout of the alien fox peeking out over his shoulder.

“Fine,” Aredhel eventually sighed. “But you’re explaining it to anyone who asks.”

“Of course,” Fingon gave her a slightly shaky smile, before strapping himself in and allowing the fox to nibble on his gloves.

“As I was saying, if you are sitting comfortably, we will get on delivering you back to the homeship. All ready?”

“Yes, captain!” Fingon called as Maedhros continued to fiddle with the straps.

The straps were very clearly designed to be fastened with two hands. Fingon moved as though to try and help, but was glared into submission as Maedhros used a combination of his teeth and stump to get everything into place.

“Ready,” he finally replied, still glaring at the buckles.

Aredhel’s sympathetic face was the last thing he wanted right now.

The flight back was filled with chatter from both Fingon and Aredhel, both skilllessly avoiding the topic of the fox-like creature currently dozing in Fingon’s lap. Maedhros zoned them out, allowing himself to fall into a state of half-sleep. Aredhel was, after all, a skilled pilot. And actually liked her brother, so was unlikely to pull any manoeuvres too unnecessary while he had potential injuries.

They arrived back at the ship without incident, the whole thing being very professional up until Aredhel had unstrapped herself from her flight seat, and promptly hugged her brother with all her considerable strength.

“You idiot,” the fond exasperation in her voice was familiar to Maedhros, even as she turned to him. “Thank you for looking after him. I love my brother, no matter what he gets up to.”

Maedhros’ “you’re welcome.” clashed with Fingon’s “why was it my fault?!”

“We heard you telling Maedhros to ignore the danger on the comms,” Aredhel was still hugging her brother, but thoroughly unimpressed. “Never mind. You two should probably get out before uncle Fëanor accuses me of kidnapping you.”

That… sounded like something his father would probably do. With a profuse thanking to his cousin as she opened the hatch, Maedhros took Fingon’s hand and headed out into the shuttle bay to face their waiting, fretting fathers.

**Author's Note:**

> Factorial's extra comments:  
* Yes, this is where I had disappeared to for the last I don't know how long.  
* Yes, I absolutely have a much longer timeline that will probably never be used have you seen how far I am behind every other project I have. But also maybe.  
* I am by training a physicist, with one of my specialisms being cosmology - which involved me also doing all of the astrophysics and space science modules. I also studied archaeology briefly, and was heavily involved in local archaeological projects as a teenager. I extensively went through my notes and textbooks and researched various things, and consulted my biologist friends, and then proceeded to mostly ignore most of this in favour of story, and use the rest more as influence than directly so.  
* There is a what happened to the colony here, and most of it can be worked out (if my test-reader speaks true and didn't just extrapolate from knowing how I think). Not all of it, but then this is like a day in a quest that will take years to fully answer.  
* The engravings on the giant wall absolutely denote this place as Doriath, because I am like only 60% as imaginative or clever as I like to think I am.


End file.
